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And where, beside their steeds, the pages stood, 
They severally ran with cheerful speed. 
Now Arthur and his thirty famous peers, 
With bucklers on their arms, the horses mounted, 
And rode with leyel’d shafts on to the plain, 
Where the strange kuight had taken stand already. 
Foremost King Arthur rode. Both couch’d their 
speais, 
And, covered with their shields, their vizors louted, 
Spurring their horses, at each other ran 
So forcibly, the ground beneath them shook; 
When, is they were about to meet in onset, 
The stranver held his spear aloof, received 
Ov his firm shield the stiff thrust of the king, 
So that the spear shivered in many splinters, 
And Arthur searcely could with effort keep 
Firm in his stirrups. But unshaken sat 
The sable knight, and, soon as his warm steed 
Had spent his spring, he turn’d, rode to the king, 
And courteously addressed him: *‘ God forbid 
That I shocld use against you, noble sire, 
My arm or weapon; order me, as one \ 
Bound to your service both by choice and duty,” 
The lofty Arihur looked on him amazed, 
And to the tent return’d. Then Galaric, 
His nephew, second son to Lot of Orcan, 
Steps rashly forth, for combat eager. Sure 
Of victory, he swings the quivering spear, 
And couches it, against his broad breast clanks 
The goldtn-eagled shield. Now, with fierce thrust, 
He rushes on, but by a gentle bend 
Avoided, harmless slid his weapon’s point 
sae’ 45 Black Knight’s left arm, whose surer 
shaft 
Just then smote him a stunning blow, so home 
His senses quel!, his tottering knees unknit, 
He drops, and covers with his length the ground, 
To avenge his brother’s fall, Sir Galban came, 
The elder son of Lot, his name is heard 
When of invincibles discourse is hela ; 
But this time to his lady he forgot 
To recomend himself, or fortune mock’d him ; 
For the black knight served him like Galaric. 
An equal fate fell on the other nephews 
Of Arthur, Egerwin and Galheret, 
And on Bliomberis, and Lionel, 
‘The noble sons of King Boort of Gannes, 
Eke on the never weary, ever merry, 
Sir Dinadel of Strangor. All of these 
Had often stretched a brave man on the earth; 
Now came their turn to be for once o’erthrown. 
-“ Beigh !’ says Sir Gries, King Arthur’s seneschal, 
In words the courtier, but in deeds the knight, 
“ Ne’er be it said or sung, in foreign lands, 
That Arthur’s messmates, like as many nine-pins, 
By the first strolling champion were knock’d down; 
Black as he is, the stranger is no devil.” 
Half jesting, half in earnest, with these words 
He spurr’d his courser. He had carefully, 
Out of a heap of spears beside the tent, 
Chosen the heaviest; but him nought avail’d 
His foresight, his rash courage, or the glibness 
Ofhis keeu tougue. The black knight lifted him 
High in the air, and let him fall amain. 
His squire soon helped on his legs again; 
Back to the tent with dhultering limped Sir Gries. 
The others followed in their turns, bold knights, 
Unwont to turn their backs on any adventure, 
Howe’er unpromising, or yield to man : 
To break alance was but a sport to them, 
‘They would have stripped a forest of its wood; 
Yet of them all not one, not one withstood 
The forceful onset of the unknown knight ; 
Each in his turn was from the saddle burl’d. 
Thus to behold the whole Round Table foil’d, 
Grieved to the heat Sir Lancelot of the Lake, 
The only one of all the thirty who 
Remain’d unconquer’d. This Sir Lancelot 
Was the f.ir queenu’s own knight ; for love to her 
He hid done many deeds, and in repayment 
Many asweet kiss, and many a glowing clasp, 
Had been vouchsufed in secret. No one messmate 
Of the Round Table was than him more fraught 
With manliness and beauty. In the presence 
Of his fair mistress, vothing seems so easy 
As to unhorse the stoutest javelin-splitter 
On the wide earth. And yet he look’d astonished 
At the black knight; for what had newly chance’d, 
Ne’er chane’d before, since the Round Table stood. 
“Vf the black art it be which shields this 
heathen,” 
Says Lancelot softly to the queen, ‘Fair lady, 
1 mk thee don’t forsake thy faithful knight; 
‘Tho’ hell for the black champion strive united, 
The German Student, No. XXV. 
[Nov. 1, 
If but your eye sinile on me, on my side 
Is heaven.” Whien he thus had said, the queen 
AJlowed him in her lovely’eyes to read 4 
(For secuiliness before so many hearers 
Closed up her lips) an answer, which upswell’d 
The big heart in his bosom. With loose rein, 
His shield aloof, his lance press’d to his side, 
He ran, and both the knights so forcibly 
Jostled against each other, horse and man, 
That the snapt shafts were shivered in their fists, 
And shield and helmet met together clanging. 
But nought avail’d to Lancelot his lady’s 
Kiud glangtt him the black knighv’s force out+ 
weighs, 
He totters, drops the rein, grows giddy, sinks, 
And lies where lay before him all his messmates. 
Calmly the stranger from his horse aliglits, 
Coaxes with friendly hand his reeking back, 
And his warm chest, takes off the foamy bit, 
Ungirds the saddle, and dismisses him, 
With akind pat, to graze about the green; 
Then turns, as came he from an airing merely, 
Cheerful and unreserv’d, with his accustomed 
Grave elderly slow step, back to the tent. 
With eyes askance the knights avoid his gaze, 
And Jook at one another, as if asking ' 
Can you bear this? but Arthur from the tent 
Advane’d with dignity, held out his hand, 
And thus address’d the stranger: ‘* Noble knight, 
We have, I think, bought of you dear enoagh 
The right to see the face of one, who thus 
Can heave my thirty comrades from the saddle.” 
No sooner had the king youchsafed these words, 
Than the pe dnee knight unbasp’d his helm, and 
rais’d it ; 
When Jo! the curls were white as snow that hung 
About his skull; in all the majesty 
Of unenfeebled age the hero stood, 
A stately handsome man, though manifold 
The wrinkles were that farrow’d his high forehead, 
And though his shoulders, still unstooping, bore 
‘Lhe burden of a hundred yeurs of toil. | 
On sceing him, King Arthar and his knichts 
Again grew warm abcut the heart, they througed 
Wondering around the stranger, clasp’d his hand, 
While on his countenance their looks repos’ 
Kindly, like sons who meet unhop’d a father. 
«My name is Branor, (s#id the ancient knight,)} 
Branor the Brown. ‘Thy father, royal Arthw, 
The far-renowned Pendragon Uther, still 
Trotted his horse of stick about the court, 
When Branor sallied forth o’er hill and dale, 
In quest of ventures. These old mossy oaks 
1 recoilect no taller than a spear. 
Thy father was to me an honour’d masfer, 
Anda kind friend. We often rode together, 
And broke, in jest and earnest, many a lance. 
May blessings Jight upon his noble son! 
Tt does my old eyes good to see yonng men 
Not yet quite fallen off from their forefathers.” 
wae pee they spake, the sun was setting. 
Arthur, 
His queen, the Jadies, and the thirty knights, 
With Branor in the midst, now turn’d their steps 
Toward the castle-gute at Cramalot, 
Where a repist stood waiting in the hall. 
A purfied canopy o’erhung the seat 
Of Arthur aad his queen; an ivory stool 
Was placed between them for the werthy Branor. 
When these were seated, others took their places, 
Tn order due, beside the sp»cious board. : 
Now twenty youths in pewter dishes brought 
The steaming food, and teeny others walied 
At the rich side-board, where from silver ewer’ 
pnt mead, Wine, and trumpets shoek the 
yal, 
As often as the two-eared cup went round. 
When appetite was sated, lofty talk 
Of deeds, of champions, and of court-emprize, 
Prolong’ their stay till midnight, and ali eyes 
Fasten’d upon the stranger ; whenooleee 
He oped his lips to parley, one might then 
Have heard a spider on the cornise spin. 
Kine Arthur took the old mau’s hand, and said: 
“Until to-day my eyes have ue’er beheld, 
Sir Branor, one so stout and merciful; 
God belp me, but I should have liked to knew 
The fathers who begot such sons as these.” 
Him the old knight replied to in this wise : 
‘*Sire king, lve lived a hundred years and more, ~ 
Many a good man upon his nurse’s Jap 
I’ve seen, and many a better help’d to bury. 
As yet there is no lack of doughty knights, 
Or lovely ladies worthy of their service; Bue 
